


Depleted Reserves

by unholygrass



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Friendship, Connor whump, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Poor Connor, connor is an actual adult with actual anger and real emotions, connor is not a soft little baby he's a person and kind of a little shit, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: The one where Connor hates himself for the fall of Jericho, works himself into the ground, yells a little bit, and gets a hug.





	Depleted Reserves

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble. It was stuck in my head so i vomited it out and now you guys gotta deal with it. There's a lot of world building here because I'm minorly obsessed with it. PRobs some errors. Also-- if you believe I am writing Connor too aggressive, I should remind you that he can be snarky, and that he is absolutely ruthless as a machine. He's picking up things from Hank. I just can't write Connor as some hapless infant like so many other people do. He has feelings and he feels hate and anger and frustration-- and sometimes those things come out in yelling spats, just like this. Anyway so that's explained.

He’s on his seventh episode of M*A*S*H when Connor finally comes home, the computer reading a cheerful one AM across the room. Sumo leaps from the couch upon hearing Connor’s footsteps on the deck outside, upsetting Hank from his faint doze as the stupid dog tripped over his lap to get to the door. He leans forward with a groan and sets down his beer bottle from where it had been resting against his stomach. 

 

Frozen air whipped into the house violently as Connor slipped inside quickly, shutting the door and shrugging off his coat while Sumo tried his hardest to knock him down. He was moving slower than normal, movements slightly jerky when he bent to greet Sumo. 

 

“I wasn’t sure if you were comin’ home or not.” Hank said rounding the couch. 

 

“I wasn’t planning to, but Markus made me.” 

 

“Well apparently Markus has more common sense than you.” When Connor had to brace himself to stand, Hank offered a hand. “It’s been three days, Connor. It’s time to go the fuck to sleep.” 

 

The kid took his hand and went to the hall closet, methodically unbuttoning his dress shirt as he went. It was terribly wrinkled and the sleeves had been rolled to his elbows. Either Connor had been playing with the kids again or he had just been working  _ that hard.  _ Hank took his beer bottle to the kitchen, listening to Connor’s voice filter in from the hall. “Androids don’t need to sleep, Hank.” 

 

“Bullshit. PareCorp just released research on that. I know you’ve seen it.” 

 

He started to put away the leftover pizza he had accidently left out before falling asleep on the couch, opening and closing drawers as he looked for tubberware or a bag or  _ anything  _ to store it in _.  _ Connor’s voice became muffled for a moment. Hank assumes he is changing. “That research was conducted on CX500s, AX400s, and NK900s. I am none of those—”

 

“No, but you  _ are  _ an android, Connor.” Fed up of talking through the house, Hank rounded the corner and pinned Connor with a sharp glare. “You’re not that fucking thick— if I can’t keep my goddamn laptop running 24/7 without frying it, then why the fuck would you be able to survive without rest?” 

 

Connor was tugging on a black t-shirt, dressed in loose sweats. He didn’t meet Hank’s eye. “I do hope I am more advanced than your laptop.” He reached out and began folding his jeans. 

 

“ _ Connor— _ ” Hank warned, a slight edge entering his voice. Connor was beginning to test him. Rarely was the kid unreasonable, but now he was just being foolish. Seven months after the evolution, five since android’s being confirmed as their own intelligent life forms, and the research communities had latched onto them with so much excitement that it seemed each day more information about android psyche  was released. The revolution had blown the lid right off of CyberLife’s light hold on android physiology, opening avenues of analysis that had previously been locked away by patent rights and impenetrable layers of red tape. Anyone who wanted to question or research androids or their effect on society had to face CyberLife’s team of wicked lawyers and the few who actually managed to get their findings published had their exposure to readers manipulated and erased. 

 

But now androids were people and CyberLife was under semi-suspension as lawyers and counsels and the supreme court hashed it all out. They had no public sympathy left, and eventually the company would fall into the hands of Jericho. Everyone was just waiting for the legalities to settle— and analysts had leapt at the opportunity to  _ finally  _ get inside an android’s head.

 

Luckily, it meant understanding deviancy far better, and was resulting in several independent startups to start developing programs to help older models keep updated and virus free. It meant that companies had started heath programs for emergency android care with the creation of branded biocomponents and off-shelf blue blood. CyberLife’s monopoly was being torn to pieces.

 

New research meant new found ways to keep androids mentally sound— like dedicating five hours a day to standby mode. Hank would be lying if he said he understood it all, but Connor was well aware of how they had drawn their conclusions. While androids didn’t need to  _ charge  _ necessarily, it was much more efficient and easier on their systems to enter a hibernation state where they could process any backlogged commands and commit daily memory logs from temporary access to their long term hard drive on their HDD. Doing so while awake took too much processing power that was generally devoted to everyday activities. 

 

Connor knew it wasn’t all fluff. Most of it was sound science— he’d personally had six memory files corrupt two months ago on a singular man stakeout that unpredictably lasted four days— it had been extremely inconvenient and had taken an extra two days of de-corruption sequences that ended with his firewalls fizzling out midday while he tried to ride with Hank to an active crime scene. He’d had to go back home anyway or risk destabilizing his interfacing software. He’d ended up snappish and irritable— silent until he couldn’t be and harsh when he had to speak at all. 

 

But he couldn’t find it in him to sit back and rest. He was designed to easily keep up with any police officers— who had very demanding jobs and time schedules. He was fairly certain that he could last longer than the models that had been tested on. He knew four days was too long, but it had only been three and he still had so much work to do. He’d been in near constant contact with the TSA, working on an acceptable safety regulation for androids on airplanes; Markus wanted him to attend a meeting in New York the next week to meet with a group of Russians to establish an international union for android rights; He’d agreed to assist the deputy police commissioner in creating a standard for android care within police legalities in Detroit; Fowler needed him to work at the precinct three days this week to get a handle on four brutal anti-android hate crimes that had no promising leads — plus twenty seven other pressing matters that needed his attention and hundreds more that needed to be done but could wait—

 

_ He just doesn’t have time to sleep right now.  _ Not when there was so much to be done— not when he  _ owed  _ it to androids to help as much as he could. Every day he still comes across androids who had lost loved ones in Jericho— every day he passed the memorial inside the new Jericho warehouse dedicated to the people who had died because of the raid that  _ he _ had caused. 

 

So maybe it was a bit illogical, and maybe he was pushing it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop working on most days. He would have continued to work until the morning once again had Markus not decided to track him down and uproot him. He’d threatened to make Connor sleep right there at Jericho just so he knew that Connor had rested eventually, but Connor had cited that Hank would worry— which wasn’t necessarily a lie.

 

He realizes that he’s zoned out. Hank is still glaring at him. He closes the closet. “I’m home now, aren't I?” He really didn’t mean for his voice to come out so snappish. Maybe bitchy is just in his automatic settings if he backlogs more than four thousand suspended commands. 

 

The look Hank gives him is more exhaustion than annoyance, and somehow that’s worse. Guilt lays heavy in his stomach as he remembers that he has no idea how the station had been that day— how heavy the caseload was— 

 

Hank can actually see Connor forcibly adjusting his mentality. It’s one of the most impressive things the kid can do. Connor let out an unnecessary huff of air, stiff shoulders purposefully loosening before looking away. They should talk about why Connor is so determined to run himself into the dirt, but he’s been awake since five am on a double suicide call, and staying up to ensure that Connor had come home at all had pushed through the rest of his reserves. 

 

They can talk in the morning after  _ both  _ of them had a night’s rest under their belts. He shuffles forward, laying a hand on Connor’s far shoulder and tugging him against his side just long enough to plant a kiss on the crown of his head. He gives him a gruff shove towards the couch as he goes for the bathroom to brush. “Go the fuck to sleep, kid.” 

 

When he comes back out Connor has already turned off all the lights in the house, and he can see where Sumo has planted himself on Connor’s chest from where they lay on the couch from the faint glow coming from the bathroom. Satisfied that they’d settled in, Hank disappears into his own bedroom instead, and falls asleep before even registering that he’d hit the pillow. 

 

— 

 

Unfortunately, Hank is old, and by four AM he has to pee again. It’s only on the way back into the hallway that he manages to sense that something is off. All of the lights are still dark, and there’s no sign of activity, but... 

 

Sumo is on the floor  _ besides  _ the couch, completely visible. Hank and Connor had shared living quarters for long enough that Hank knew that whenever Connor was sleeping, Sumo slept on top of him. He doesn’t know how or why that was the arrangement they’d settled on, but it was, and since Connor had moved in, Sumo very rarely slept on the floor. 

 

His four AM sleep hazed mind congratulates him on being such a superb detective. 

 

He lumbers over, feet maybe dragging a little. Connor was fucking weird, and Sumo’s sleeping arrangements weren’t exactly cause for concern. 

 

No, his cause for concern is that Connor is not on the couch at all. He is seated on the floor with his back to the wall, Hank’s laptop on his lap. He can barely see him because the screen is off, the only light coming from Connor’s spinning yellow LED. Fortunately Hank had learned last month that Connor didn’t need a computer to be active, or even on, to interface with it. His eyes were closed but the skin on his hand was peeled back to reveal the smooth plasteel underneath. 

 

The fucking brat was still working. 

 

“ _ Connor!”  _ He barks, voice impossibly loud in the still silence of the room. The kid startles badly— as was Hank’s intention. Connor startled easily, it was a byproduct of being programmed to stay alert while simultaneously becoming unaware to his surroundings so he could analyze evidence. It led to zoning out while still being hyperaware of threats. The laptop is jerked from his lap as he reached for something— the lamp, Hank noted— to use as a weapon. He stops when he recognizes that it is Hank looming above him. 

 

“What the fuck, Connor.” He reaches down and snatched the laptop, closing it with a snap and all but tossing it onto the desk. Connor was trying to pick himself up off the floor. He seemed to be struggling to find his balance. 

 

Hank’s concern has been manifesting as anger for as long as he can remember. Now is no exception. “Why are you so fucking determined to run yourself into the goddamn ground? This shit can fucking  _ wait. _ ” 

 

Connor’s pulled himself to his feet finally, eyeing Hank like a feral animal. His LED stayed yellow. Hank could  _ feel _ Connor’s outburst building. Had Hank only been disappointed, Connor would have wilted, but lately Connor had a habit of retaliating Hank’s anger with his own. “It can’t  _ wait _ , actually.” His voice is forceful and loud in a way that reminds Hank of Connor in an interrogation room. 

 

“Like hell it can’t! What the fuck are you working on that’s so important that you have to fuckin’ suffer for it?!” 

 

“Everything I’m working on is important! The faster I can get this done, the better off Jericho will be—“ 

 

“And what about when you’re out of commission for three days because you refused to stop? What if the force needs you? You’re our only negotiator trained to work with androids—“ 

 

“Then I’ll come out anyway!” 

 

“And get crippled by malware? How long would that put you out Connor? You’re useless if you’re dead!” 

 

“I  _ owe it to them, Hank—“  _

 

Hank’s stomach dropped to his toes. He cut Connor off. “ _ Owe  _ it to them? I thought we talked about this Connor— you are not responsible for the things CyberLife made you do—” 

 

“I could have done more, Hank. I knew my software was corroding— I knew I had hints of deviancy, and instead of doing the right thing I clung to the  _ shitty _ mission instead. Even after you tried to tell me that hunting down Markus was wrong and that we were on the wrong side, I still didn’t listen.” Hank’s stomach tightened sickly— he knew the tone in Connor’s voice. The self hate that clouded his words made heat build behind Hank’s eyes.    
  
Connor had no reason to feel that way. He was a good fucking kid— he fought for androids and humans alike— he was always willing to help anyone he could at the risk of himself. He was selfless in most everything he did and rarely put himself first. His morals were fucking sound, and his heart was huge. 

 

He didn’t deserve to hate himself at all. 

 

“Connor.” The words fail him for a moment. His heart aches. Connor must see it, because he looks away, fingers rubbing together at his sides, flicking against each other in agitation as he rocked backwards away from Hank on instinct. Hank can see his want to isolate himself— for Hank to go away so he could stew in his enmity.  _ “Connor.  _ Look at me.”    
  
Dark eyes finally land on him. Before his deviancy, eye contact had been easy for Connor. Afterwards he found it increasingly difficult. Hank knew this.    
  
He stepped forward and gripped Connor by his shoulders. “You were restrained by your own code. You could notice those rising emotions, but you couldn’t act on them without a catalyst, and that didn’t come until Markus spoke to you. Look at me.  _ You are not responsible for the things you did before you became deviant.”  _

 

There’s enough light flickering in from the street for Hank to see how those dark eyes flicker with tears that never fall, blinked away furiously as he tried to get a grip on his emotions. There was no relief on his face, but there was understanding in his eyes. They would need to have this conversation many more times before Connor started to truly accepted the truth, but Hank was willing to have that conversation as many times as it took. 

 

He tugged the kid against his chest, wrapping his arms fiercely around his slender shoulders. He felt Connor melt into the embrace, his cheek hot against his shoulder as he slumped forward, his entire weight falling into it. Hank is reminded that Connor has to be fucking exhausted. He gives him another quick squeeze before tugging him back towards his room instead of the couch. “Come on. Sleep on my bed tonight.” He saw Connor’s confusion. “It’s plenty big for two people, and I don’t really want to let you out of sight anyway in case you decide to hijack my laptop again.” He knows he won’t, but personal experience tells him that if he were in Connor’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to be alone for the night. 

 

Sure enough, Connor doesn’t resist, instead falling into step under Hank’s arm against his side, calling Sumo along as they lumber back to the bed in Hank’s room. Sumo nearly knocks them over as he rushes in front of them, insistent on entering the room first before them, leaping onto the bed. 

 

There’s a lot of shoving the dog around before anyone gets comfortable enough to sleep, but eventually they settle down into something resembling peace, Sumo stretched partially on Connor’s belly with back legs reached out to touch Hank’s hip.    
  
Hank hopes that Connor isn’t thinking too hard to fall into standby, but one look at his softly pulsing LED and relaxed face reassures him that the kid was finally getting the rest he deserved. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


End file.
